Juice
by Crystalazer
Summary: Edward stopped and looked at the man who had just called to him. He was behind the counter of a small drink stand.


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Juice**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from _FullMetal Alchemist_ portrayed in this fic. However, I do own all original characters. I also own this story. Isn't that nice? Steal from me and I'll send my friend Cef to attack you for soiling Edward's good name.

_Fer one of my best friends, **Cef, **who is the self-titled **"Edward Evangelist."**  
Please don't hate me._

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The last thing on his mind was what would happen when Winry found out that his automail was rusted beyond repair. She would have to fashion a new arm for him again, but Edward Elric wasn't going back to Rizenbul anytime soon.

Trudging forlornly through the streets of Central, he kicked half-heartedly at a gray puddle of water in the street, watching the dirty rainwater hit the street with a flat splash. Rain from above soaked into his hair, reducing the normally fair gold color to a muddy caramel. He wished, vaguely, that he had his red coat for a little more cover against the unrelenting rain, but he had left it in the military dorm with Al.

The lead had been promising. Headquarters had gotten reports of alchemic reactions of catastrophic proportions in the south; the energy level resembling that of the Philosopher's Stone. The Colonel gave permission for the Elric Brothers to investigate the cause.

The results had been disastrous. The massive amount of alchemic energy, did not, as suspected, come from the Philosopher's Stone. Instead, when Ed and Al arrived, they found the town of Manson, home to a prestigious Alchemy Academy, as the center of the foul religious practices of the P'cux cult, a well-known anti-Ishbal group. Their intent was to use the alchemic potency of the students studying there as a means to create a weapon powerful enough to destroy the whole ethnicity at once when congregated.

They had been able to stop the creation of the weapon, but as a result, over seventy percent of the students and all of the P'cux members had been killed in the explosion that followed. Ed had barely gotten away with his life. The fifteen-year-old State Alchemist had sustained lasting burns to his back and face, which luckily, wouldn't scar, as well as a mild concussion. His brother had not fared much better. It was estimated that about three-fourths of Al's armor had been destroyed, and in addition, over half of the original pieces could not be found.

In the aftermath, a military truck passed by the area. Upon seeing the smoke and eventually the demolished town, they quickly contacted Headquarters and the survivors were taken out of the Manson area for hospitalization. Ed, who had fallen unconscious from a combination of fever, fatigue, and dehydration, was taken to a medical facility and had been put on life support for sixteen hours. Al, who under his current circumstances, neither suffered from fever, fatigue, nor dehydration, watched un-movingly over his brother from the corner.

They were officially released two weeks later, but the Colonel, upon hearing the report, forbid Ed from traveling outside Central City for another week, insisting that his subordinate was not yet fully recovered. Then he absently wondered whether his too-small brain left any room for sense. For the first time in memory, Roy Mustang didn't receive a hot-headed retort. Rather, the young alchemist cradled his chin in his left hand and stared silently out the rain-streaked window. Later that evening, Al's armor was repaired with various metal parts that Ed had requested to compensate for the pieces lost.

Since then, Ed spoke seldom to anyone, even his brother. Al shared the same silence. Neither wanted to talk about the unsuccessful massacre that still resulted in a massacre. Not that people ignored them; Hughes had tried to take them out to lunch several times, Lieutenants Ross and Hawkeye attempted to engage in casual conversation, and even Armstrong tried to get the Elrics to loosen up in his various muscular, shiny ways. Their attempts were all futile.

It was three days later when Ed finally broke his silence.

"I'm going for a walk." He went alone.

Pausing to stare up at the sky, heavy with clouds, Ed let the large, wet drops fall on his face, washing away all traces of dirt that might have been there. Raindrops clung to his eyelashes, which he blinked away impatiently before continuing to stride slowly through the city.

The streets were empty; no one walked around in a downpour like this one. Once in a while, a military car might pass, splashing water onto the curb, which he neatly sidestepped. Stuffing his freezing hands deeper into his pockets, he walked on.

"Hey kid,"

Edward stopped and looked at the man who had just called to him. He was behind the counter of a small drink stand.

"You're gonna catch a cold if you stand out there in the rain all day. You're better off warm and dry, if not at least dry, lest you're a fish. Come over here." The man beckoned him over. He had a good-natured smile. Ed paused to consider the offer, shrugged, and took one of the empty seats.

"Name's Hans. Is there something I can get'cha? Coffee? Sake? Milk?" The man chuckled as Ed's nostrils flared slightly at the last suggestion.

"…Fruit juice, if you have it." Hans nodded and passed him a glass of strawberry juice.

"Now what's a young'un like you doin' out in this kinda weather?" asked the bartender, wiping a glass clean with an old rag.

Ed shrugged. "There were things on my mind," he muttered darkly, tentatively sticking his finger into the glass, then into his own mouth as if to check if the juice was poisoned.

"A kid like you shouldn't be worrying so much. Enjoy your youth while ya got it." He surveyed the cautious blonde with amusement. This kid talked as if he were an adult, but still acted like a child. "I didn't poison it, you know." He added.

"Just checking," Ed muttered without looking up. "You can't trust many people these days. You think you know a guy, but it's just another mask." He laughed. "Seen it happen more often than not. Gets worse every time; you can never get used to it."

"That's life for ya," Hans said softly to him. After a few minutes of listening to Ed laugh maniacally, then waving his arm around in the air, he added aloud, "Ya keep that up, and you're gonna break yer glass. Whether it was yer fault or not, which it will be, you'll have to pay for it. Luckily, juice glasses aren't like arms and legs. Ya can't replace yer limbs."

Ed stopped immediately, and dropped his arm back onto the table. "Sorry about that," he muttered, sticking his finger into the juice cup again. "I suppose… well… I just needed to vent off all the frustration. I can't smash anything without getting into trouble, so I just… laughed. Not very manly of me…" he added, though nearly inaudibly. Hans heard him anyways.

"Hey," he said, refilling Ed's juice cup. "You're still a little kid. Don't need to act all grown up yet; you've got years for that. Wait until you're twenty or so. That's about another eight years, isn't it?" He stopped mid-chuckle when he saw the blonde freeze and stare up at him disjointedly, plastic straw still sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"ARE YOU CALLING ME A KID WHO IS SO YOUNG HE STILL HAS TO WEAR DIAPERS! I'M FIFTEEN, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! FIFTEEN!" Ed screamed in his face, spraying great globs of saliva all over the bartender's face. Hans blinked.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down; didn't mean to upset you, there." Wiping the spit off his face, the bartender sighed. "Kids these days…" The older man chanced a look at the clock hanging on the far wall. "Hey…it's gettin' late. Won't 'cher parents worry about you?"

He raised his eyebrows at the change that overcame the boy. The look of absolute rage and indignation was replaced by a solemn, sad, even wistful demeanor. "Nah…" Ed chased an invisible ice cube around the inside of his cup with his straw. "The only one that might care will be my younger brother. It always worries him when I want to be alone for a little."

"I've got three sons and a wife back home, m'self. I should know. Yer lucky, havin' a brother who cares about you like that. Well…I should be closing up shop just 'bout now. The rain's stopped. You should head on home, young'un." With a grunt of effort, the dark-haired man lifted himself off of the stool he had been sitting on and walked slowly out from behind the counter. Ed frowned.

"Is your leg automail?" He asked, pointing at Hans's left calf.

"Huh? Oh this? As a matter of fact, it is." The bartender smiled good-naturedly, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "Actually, most of me is automail now." Lifting up his tunic to reveal his stomach, about three inches of metal plate could be seen before disappearing under his belt.

"Everything from the waist down is…artificial?"

"That's right. I'll reckon that's a fair bit more than just yer right arm and left leg, eh?"

Ed nodded numbly. "How did you lose it…all…of that?"

"An accident down south. Some folk intent on doin' no good tried to blow up my eldest, Seamus, and youngest, Tyson, while they were learnin' alchemy at Manson. We went down to visit, my wife Ferny an' I, and we were caught in the explosion. Luckily, it didn't do mah family any permanent harm. Heh…half of me got cut off instead." Hans chuckled. "But I'm not holding any grudges. Different people have different beliefs, ya know? I'm just glad that weird clan-thing was destroyed. They won't be toyin' with any more innocents now."

"Yeah…oh, that's right…" Ed dug around in his pocket with his left hand and produced a wad of cash which he held out to the bartender. "Thanks for the drink, Mr. Hans-san."

"Keep it," Hans pushed it back at him. "It's nice to talk out yer troubles once in a while. Now you get on home and take care o' yer little brother, as well as that arm o' yours."

"…Right. Thanks again, Mr. Hans!" Turning on his heel, the young blonde whipped around and started to sprint down the street, heavy boots echoing as they hit the wet pavement. Hans watched him disappear and frowned slightly to himself.

_So that's the Full Metal Alchemist…he's still just a kid. That military…what're they thinkin'?_

Shrugging, he looked the other direction at the clouds dissolving into the sunset.

_Time will sort it out. Yup…time will sort it all out. _

He looked towards his drink stand and noticed the empty juice cup.

_Eh…it can wait 'till tomorrow, even if that kid can't._

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_Fin_

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Wow...wasn't that fun? It was four pages about absolutely nothing. There was absolutely no character development, and...all problems weren't resolved. Yay for me.

This one takes place before Episode 25. Because Hughes is alive. **WHEWT! **Um...the whole Manson thing is made-up, just so you know. It's genius...I know. It should have been in the anime, but it wasn't.

Thanks to P-Dark for helping me with many various things. Many various things.

_Love it? Hate it? I'll never know unless you **review!**_ **  
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